As found as she may be,

she's still lost. I'll spare the internet the details, but we know where my sister is now. I love her very, very much but I've washed my hands clean of this particular situation. Instead of going into those details, I'll go into these:

Things I like about myself that others have told me they don't
(A partial list):

How loud my laugh is
My short, curly hair
How easily amused I am
My excitement over seemingly meaningless things
The amount of cumin I use in my cooking
The color of my glasses
I prefer to be barefoot
My taste in music
Sitting criss cross applesauce
How much I notice
Wanderlust
Singing along to any song I know the words to
Shamelessness around strangers
Wearing dresses

I won't let anyone take that from me.

-Theresa

She's gone.

She's alive, as far as we know, but my little sister is gone.

I think maybe, I'll go for a drive. It's bad form to drive and cry at the same time.

Broken

I am part of a broken family. No, not in the conventional sense. We're all still around. My mom and dad, they love each other and they love us. We don't hit or say things we don't mean. At least not anymore. But we are broken.

Consider, for a moment, the dishes off which you may or may not enjoy your meals.

This is a complete set. However, through time, it has deteriorated. It is chipped, glued together and cracked. These things happen when you put dishes in the hands of a child or in a microwave and just through general wear. You just can't bear to throw it away because it's been around for so long. But it still holds your meals. This set is not one you would purchase new or even used. But you might consider donating it. Hey, all the pieces are there. There's even this one extra that doesn't quite fit but it stacks just fine for a while. Until it doesn't. Until it scratches that dish it's sitting on so badly that the ceramic finish isn't enough to hold it all together. So that dish falls apart completely. And the rest wish to follow suit.

Oh, but not these dishes. No. They may fall apart, this much is true. But they will hide it and hold themselves together. These dishes of undetermined color and origin, they survive. These dishes, the cockroaches of the culinary world, just won't let go. They are a constant. Cracks and chips and all.

The thing about dishes, at least ones that are not made of plastic, is that they tend to break. So it really makes complete sense that the dish ran away with the spoon. The spoon, it bends. But there's no snapping that spoon. It does not need to be put back together. That dish can rely on that spoon as much as it wants to and that spoon doesn't mind. And they can share all their meals together. There's probably a cat playing the fiddle somewhere.

But this dish? This dish separated herself from the rest. She didn't have a spoon to run away with but she ran anyway. Silly dish. The lines and cracks remain. It's a dish you eat off of with your hands, if you eat off of it at all. It's just one broken dish. Part of a whole no one can find anymore. This dish sits in the sink, waiting to be washed. Waiting for a spoon to ask her to run away. Waiting to be needed. Just waiting.

I have a perfect body

Because my eyelashes catch my sweat.

Okay, I recognize I've been posting a lot lately. I'd apologize. But I don't want to.

That road trip I've been considering? I think I'm going to start harassing people for places to stay. And near those places to stay, I think I'm going to look for shows. And that money I set aside? I think I'll buy some tickets. Or not. As of right now, this is all a pipe dream. But Iron & Wine isn't coming to Arizona and that bottle of Moscato isn't going to drink itself. So pipe dreams are what I'm living on.

Road trip goals:

Visit states I've never been to (Primarily Washington and Oregon. And maybe Maine.)
Drive the majority of driving to be done. (If I don't go alone)
Gather stories.
Just go.
Get lost and don't be annoyed.
Make new friends.
Keep old friends.
Don't lesson plan, even a little bit.
Keep track.
Go skinny dipping. (This is a life goal I have yet to accomplish.)
Enjoy every moment.
Don't blog drunk.

There at thirty-seven school days left and I still can't believe anyone let me be a teacher.

I taught addition using paper plates, writing using pictures and speaking by threatening a loss of recess. And they want me to do it again next year? Shit.

I love, love, love my job. Love it. I just hate that I can't figure out how to have a life outside of it. And my bed and this lovely bottle of white. But maybe that's not teaching's fault.

I've never really been good at juggling. Not those brightly-colored scarves in elementary school and not life.

I am my own anchor and I keep me here. But so does my abundance of indecision. I'm so very ready to make decisions. Ask, ask away and I will answer. I will decide.

Emily knocked on my door and there are ducks in the pool. Duty calls.

-Theresa